


Nosocomephobia

by Officer_Jennie



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [17]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 11:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: Nosocomephobia, or the fear of hospitals.Madara said Tobirama could never hurt him. It was just like the bastard to prove him wrong.Or: Madara and denial are best friends at this point, so much so that he can't recognize his own feelings.





	Nosocomephobia

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from writhingbeneathyou over on tumblr: "If you are still doing the prompt fills, may I please request 23.) Things you said *couldn't hurt you* for either Madatobi or Izutobi? Thank you!"

Madara didn’t like a lot of things. He thought coffee was too bitter and couldn’t understand why anyone would drink it. Most people gushed about floating petals in spring while he always found himself too busy sneezing to do much else. And while most his age were starting families and reproducing and whatever the hell else they were going on about, he could only cringe at the snot-nosed brats that tried to climb him when all he wanted was a quiet evening at the park - one  _without_  sticky fists tangled in his hair and obnoxious oafs that laughed at his misery instead of helping (some friends they were).

That all being said, he saved his hatred for very few things in life. Uchiha were known for both loving and hating with all that they were, and as he entered the cold building, cleaning chemicals burning in his nose, the lights too bright and walls dull, nurses rushing about with their clipboards and exhaustion written in every single cell of their beings - he felt that all too familiar wave of hatred hang over him like an old acquaintance.

If Madara would’ve had his way, he never would’ve stepped foot in another hospital again. Not after all of those agonizing years he’d spent, sitting in a metal chair and watching his brother waste away. As soon as Izuna had recovered enough from his coma, he’d dragged the brat home and swore to never come back here - not even his own life-threatening wounds had managed to convince him to change his mind.

He didn’t bother stopping at the front desk, giving the worker seated there a sharp look when it looked as if they’d try to stop him. They rightfully paled and shoved their nose into something that looked mildly important, and Madara huffed as he marched passed them. He didn’t know the room number, but it wasn’t like he needed to. The flicker of chakra was enough to guide his way, even dim as it was at the moment.

Something balled up in his gut, but he threw it to the side before bothering to identify it. There were people about in the halls, some of them shinobi, and the last thing his reputation needed was some scurrilous rumors spread about involving some show of weakness.

The room he was looking for was like any other in that damned place. Too quiet. Smelled awful. Not even the open window could bring enough life into the place, and the lighting did nothing to make the man laid on the hospital bed any less like death. His shallow breathing hardly made things better, only making Madara’s throat tight as he approached. He kept his distance from the convenient chair placed at the bedside; the Senju as a whole might be more suspicious by nature, but he wasn’t taking his chances.

No one should be that pale. He took a moment to pulse his chakra through the limb body, wincing when it brought him no reaction. There was no infection at least, though that gave little comfort when he felt the extent of the wound. It cut deep into the muscle, though his organs were thankfully spared.

The last time he’d saw that face, it had been contorted in anger, words spat as they argued. Madara had laughed right at the bastard, mocking even as something inside him twisted at the knowledge that, no matter how he tried, all they could ever be was enemies.

 _“You think to scare me, Senju? Even at my worst, you couldn’t_ touch  _me.”_

He reached towards his face, hesitating as gloved fingers brushed the red striking across a pale cheek. Even without touch he could tell how clammy and wrong his skin was. He jerked his hand back, taking a moment to breathe before looking around the room. A small jug of water sat on a table, along with a single glass. Since the Senju was in no condition to drink it on his own, it was no doubt placed out for potential visitors. It would do.

This wasn’t exactly what he’d been preparing for when he’d started carrying a handkerchief up one of his sleeves, but that wasn’t going to stop him. Really, he wasn’t sure why he was doing it at all, finding only a mental block where the explanation should be, as if his mind didn’t want him to know his own motives.

The water was cool at least, though he doubted the unconscious man would notice either way. He took his time wiping the sweat and grim from his face, being as gentle as he would with a babe, feeling his own heartbeat and breathing calm with the movements.

When he was done, he placed the water back where he’d found it, giving Tobirama one last look over his shoulder before leaving him. His chest hurt a little less, despite bitter taste still on his tongue from being here to begin with.

That bitter taste turned all the more sour when a familiar thick-headed idiot turned the corner. Madara did his best to duck out of the way, but there were only so many places to hide in a clear corridor, and even fewer still that wouldn’t make it obvious that he was trying to hide.

The beaming smile spelled his doom, and he accepted his fate with as much grace as he could muster, storming down the hall to greet his friend as far away from  _that room_  as he could make it.

“What do you want, Hashirama?” There was a chance, albeit a small one, that appearing as busy as possible would get him out of this. His demand at least seemed to confuse the idiot, who made a stupid pouting face at him in return.

“I work here, remember? Well, at least, sometimes.” Hashirama scratched at the back of his head, frowning as he looked passed Madara down the hallway. “I was actually about to go see Tobirama again. We managed to stabilize him last night with little issue, and he should make a full recovery, but I still worry...”

“Tch. Like I care what happens to that bastard.” This was hardly the first time Madara had been thankful for his clan’s traditional high collars, and he put as much of a scowling tone to his words as he could muster with the relief flooding through him. At least no one could see the uninvited smile tugging at his lips from the news.

“Hey! Don’t be mean!” The watery eyed pout was met with an unimpressed stare, and Hashirama soon gave up with a long-suffering sigh. “Can’t you two  _try_  to get along?”

“No.”

“ _Madara!_  He’s my brother! And-wait, what are  _you_  doing here?”

Just his luck, really. Madara paled, cursing himself for not thinking of an excuse earlier. “Well, I was visiting, a, uhhh... A friend. Yes. One of those.”

He watched in horror as Hashirama just blinked at him for a few moments, knowing full well how bullshit that excuse was. But if he bolted now, it would only make him look that much more guilty.

“A friend?”

Madara could only nod dumbly in response, feeling his face heat up and cursing his genes for always making his embarrassment so noticeable.

“Oh, wow!” The wide grin was certainly confusing, as was the hand that clapped amiably on his friend. “I didn’t know you had friends. You’ve certainly made progress then. Good for you!”

In Madara’s honest opinion, Hashirama deserved the punch he received for that, even if he whined about not understanding what he’d done wrong. Honestly, the Senju were going to be the death of him someday, and it only proved how difficult they were that they had to wait until  _after_  the war to kill him.

**Author's Note:**

> I often headcanon characters as hating coffee because I project my own feelings a lot - _especially_ onto Madara, it seems.
> 
> Both Tobirama and Madara are The Bad at feelings, but they'll get over themselves eventually and do the falling in love thing.


End file.
